Paper Cuts Still Bleed
by My Last Lullaby
Summary: We're all living... but are we truly alive? In Ryoma's mind there's no difference. Once an innocent child, he's now thrown away his heart, his pride, and his dreams in lieu of surviving. But life has hit him hard and he's suddenly drowning - and there's only one person who can keep his head above water.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own Prince of Tennis.

**Summary**: We're all living... but are we truly alive? In Ryoma's mind there's no difference. Once an innocent child, he's now thrown away his heart, his pride, and his dreams in lieu of surviving. But life has hit him hard and he's suddenly drowning - and there's only one person who can keep his head above water.

**Warnings**: _**Child abuse**_, _**rape**_, _**prostitution**_, pseudo-science, swearing, character death, lemons, dark themes, OOC, slash, gang activity, inaccurate portrayal of real life situations, _**neglect**_, etc. Subject to change as I see fit. This story can **_trigger _**you so please be careful! **Unbeta'd **for now.

**A/N**: This is a rewrite of a story I started about four years ago, originally called _Nothing's Shadow_. I've changed a lot of major plot elements, and my writing style has changed a lot as well. In light of that, I hope this story doesn't disappoint! I've been waiting to write it for so long. Please be **warned** though: this is not going to be an easy story to read. There is a lot of **graphic** violence and adult situations, and a lot of topics I touch on could very easily trigger you. That said, please enjoy and let me know what you think.

**Paper Cuts Still Bleed**

**Chapter One**

**My Last Lullaby**

**XXxXX**

"Just relax," a husky voice whispered against my ear before roughly pulling on it with sharp teeth. I shuddered theatrically, trying to play my part – blushing elementary virgin reluctantly having relations with my teacher – but not putting much into it. This was already real enough as it was. They never really cared anyways, as long as they got what they wanted – in other words, me. And this part never lasted long. It was just the build-up.

"M-Mr. Grover," I stuttered as his hand cupped the front of my pants. I tensed up involuntarily, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm down. It didn't do much to help. When things got more intense it was like my first time all over again. I was the victim, they were my controller, and they got what they wanted no matter what it was or what I wanted. Not _like_, it _was _my first time all over again. I hated it, but I need it all the same. I needed it to live.

"Shh," he murmured against my lips, a wild look in his eyes. I knew this was when things got bad. He was about to throw control to the wind and let his urges control his body. "I'm not going to hurt you buddy." A lie. It always hurt.

I couldn't hold my quiet whimpers in as my clothes were torn from me, exposing me to him and the world. My small body was dangerously skinny and unhealthily pale. You could see bones poking out, trying to escape the pathetic grave my body gave them, and trace spider webs through my skin, watch as my blood pumped sluggishly through my veins. Combined with my below average height I looked years younger than I actually was – an advantage in this industry. Pedophiles were drawn to me like bees to honey. It was my own special brand of curse because I was too weak to fight and too appealing to resist.

I felt his large body pressing against me and tried to force my mind away, out of the rundown little motel room and away from the reality of my life, but the coarseness of his chest hair and the bitter smell of his sweat kept me from that paradise. Thin, smooth fingers began tracing the contours of my frame, beginning at my face and working their way down. He traced my button nose, my high cheekbones, my round face and the corner of my jaw, my slitted golden eyes currently filled with tears I was trying not to let spill.

Next he moved his hands down, almost massaging my skin as he went if not for the roughness that would surely leave bruises later. When he got to my collar bones he followed the dip of them, pushing against the skin there as if trying to pry them from my body. It hurt and I let out a whine that nearly tore him from the trance he'd put himself in.

When he was done he moved onto my ribs, tracing the slight dip between each gently, like I might break. But then again, that's what he wanted. When he got to my hip bones he brought his head down, a long, wet tongue coming out to slick my skin with unwanted saliva for reasons I couldn't fathom. He blew on the lines he created afterwards and shivers raced up my spine, making me jerk gently beneath him before I could stop myself. At the unexpected reaction he glanced up at me, a sly smile reaching his lips, before he did it again - even more gently this time. When I didn't react as he wanted, he frowned, his fingers digging into me like claws, and moved on.

Finally he reached his prize: my limp member.

At age fourteen I had yet to hit puberty and my skin was still soft. He loved it, of course, they all did; it added to the innocent child image I had going for me, the idea that the one they were raping was truly the nine or ten-year old I appeared to be. It disgusted me. Then again, it was for the best. I'd heard that it was hard to control your body when it first started, and if I got a hard on while one of them was touching me I don't think I'd _ever _be able to forgive myself. I doubt if I'd even be able to live with myself.

I was pulled from my thoughts by fingers wrapping around me, squeezing and tugging in a parody of the handjob I knew he wasn't giving. I bit my lip to hold back a scream as he fisted me too hard and I felt a rush of pain so intense it made me light-headed. '_Too hard_,' I thought, tears finally leaking from the corners of my eyes, '_It's too hard._' I lost my mind in the pain for a moment, and before I could stop myself I began begging hysterically. "Stop," I cried weakly, "Please stop, _please_, I'll do anything just _stop_." I tugged at my hands, trying in vain to free them from their prison at the head of the bed, hoping I could push him away, but it was futile. He'd tied the rope too tight, and all I was doing was rubbing the skin bloody.

"_Stop!_" he mocked in a shaky falsetto, his eyes darkening. "You're too precious." He bared his teeth in a domineering smile and gave me one last hard squeeze before he released me, hands coming to rest on my thighs. They were already spread, held in place by ropes around my knees that were connected to my hands, but he forced them wide enough it felt like my legs might be torn from their sockets. I was a flexible person, but the ropes were tight and my legs didn't want to move like that.

I shut my eyes, held my breath, and clenched my teeth. Anything to bare this. If I passed out he'd finish and leave without paying, and if I made too much of a fuss he'd knock me out and do the same. I needed this money, I'd just have to deal. I always did, and this wasn't more than I was used to. If anything, Mr. Grover was one of my gentler customers. Some of the fetishes the others had made this look like rainbows and butterflies in comparison. I shouldn't let myself be so affected. I was a _professional_, what was _wrong _with me? I'd been doing this a lot lately.

Finally he stopped pushing and allowed my legs to go back to a more natural position. But I didn't relax just yet; things were just getting started.

His hand went back to my member, encircling it briefly, rubbing it gently and thumbing the head. He bent forward again, rubbing his nose along it sensually, and circling it with his tongue. It wasn't long before he impaled himself on it, not that that's saying much – I wasn't big, by any means, and I didn't even graze the back of his throat. The warm wetness of his mouth almost felt good for a moment, and then he hollowed his cheeks out and sucked, swallowed, and bobbed. That wasn't the painful part though: I was uncut, and he used the opportunity to bite at my foreskin, pulling and tugging with his teeth in what could have been pleasurable if not for the sparse blood he was drawing.

I absently wondered how men found this gratifying in the least, because to me it just felt awkward and embarrassing. I couldn't even imagine _wanting _to do this to someone else. It just felt… weird. Skin rubbing against skin. Some people might think I just wasn't sensitive enough, or that I wasn't "grown up enough", but that wasn't the case at all. At fourteen I'd experienced more of life's so-called pleasures than most people did in their whole life, and was _very _sensitive. I just didn't like how this felt. But maybe the experience was tainted after what I'd been through.

When he let go of me and moved his hand back a little further I understood that it was time, I needed to prepare myself. This was not my first time with Mr. Grover and I knew he was far from gentle. He liked it rough and bloody and painful; merciless.

He started out tracing my hole, slipping the tip of his finger just inside and flicking it against the sensitive flesh there. Next he pulled away slightly to rub the skin around it, almost rhythmically massaging me in circles that he got lost in for a time. But before long I felt it – his nails, digging into my flesh and pulling harshly, scraping skin and drawing blood. My breathing sped up and I winced but remained otherwise still. He continued to scratch me, digging deeper and deeper until I knew it would need at least minor medical attention. He began wiping at the blood, collecting it on the palm of his hand to use in place of lube, and I internally shuttered when I felt the head of his hard cock press against the sensitive flesh of my raw ass.

When he pushed in, I screamed.

* * *

Three hours later it was dawn and I was just stepping out of the shower, happy to finally wash all the blood, sweat, and cum off and get rid of the unpleasant, putrid smell that came with it. My skin was red and raw from the scalding water I'd showered with, because even after all these years I still felt dirty and the feeling just increased more and more with every day. Logically I knew that I wasn't, that there was no dirt on me, that the hands had long since removed themselves… but I couldn't help but feel them on me at all hours, prying and taking and _violating_. Even when I was in an empty room I still felt them crawling on me and it made me physically sick to my stomach. It was disgusting. _I _was disgusting.

So I did everything I could to clean myself, even if it meant blistering my skin from the heat.

Mr. Grover had left roughly half an hour before, leaving me curled up and crying in the motel bed. He'd left the three hundred he owed me on the bedside table and as soon as I could pull myself together again I reached over to count it. It was all there, of course, and I'd added it to the thick wad of bills I had from past encounters.

I pulled on my clothes, wincing as they rubbed against my tender, bruised flesh. The rope had, quite unsurprisingly, left dark bruises on my wrists and thighs, and even a thin ring of scabs from where I'd pulled too hard at the unrelenting rope. I chose to don my somewhat bland street clothes over the highly uncomfortable and provocative work clothes that lay in shreds next to the bed. My street clothes were simple and comfortable – faded black skinny jeans, a thin black t-shirt with a fading logo on the front, skater shoes, and an assortment of bracelets meant to cover the bruises I had near constantly.

I was finally able to leave and I began the hour-long walk to my third most frequented hangout: the hospital. I needed to make a payment on various bills and I wanted to visit August.

Arriving at the hospital and locating the financial department was easy; I'd been there at least a hundred times. Handing over nearly two thousand dollars wasn't. I'd worked _so _hard for that money, and it was all disappearing so quickly. I kept a few hundred for Zach and I, of course – we had to live somehow, after all – but the rest got put towards paying August's rising hospital fees, along with my own (prostituting yourself wasn't cost-free, unfortunately, and STD's weren't uncommon). I didn't regret it though. I would never regret the choice to keep August on life support. But I'd sold myself for that money, and with August falling deeper and deeper into his coma everyday it didn't always feel worth it.

But it would be one day. When he woke up and I finally got my best friend back, it would be worth it.

When I reached room 483, August's private room, I was surprised to find Dr. Politch – the same doctor who had been on August's case since day one, as well as the doctor who'd taken care of Rachel and Jason before they passed – checking the charts with a contemplative look on her face.

My stomach dropped.

"Did something happen?" I asked worriedly. A few years ago I would have immediately assumed he was waking up, but I'd been through too much at this point to let myself hope. I wasn't naïve, and I knew to expect the worst.

"There's been some minor brain activity," she hummed. "It's nothing major, and I don't want to get your hopes up, but it could be indicative that he's starting to wake up."

My face went blank, and my mind closed down. She'd said that before. A year and a half ago, she'd said that and instead they just found more tumor. And when they removed it the mild brain activity he'd had disappeared. I'd been so hopeful that the tumor was the problem and removing it meant I'd get him back, so I'd agreed to the surgery. Hundreds of thousands of dollars later he was worse off than when we started and no closer to waking up than he had been the day of the crash. Further even. And more than that, my heart – and Zach's – was in pieces after having my hopes shattered like that.

"What-," my voice cracked and I sucked in a deep, unsteady breath, "What are you going to do now?"

She gave me a sympathetic look that positively _dripped _pity and I _hated _it. She didn't understand anything about the situation, and I didn't need her trying to make things better, only to do exactly the opposite. She was a kind woman behind her professional clinicism, but the only thing she could do to make this better was help August. Something she hadn't done much of.

"We're running some tests now. So far nothing's come back, but it doesn't look like we'll have to open him up again." She obviously knew what my next train of questioning would be. That was good, I guess… but it just meant that much more money I owed the hospital. That many more people I'd be forced to sell myself to, that much further away I was from paying off my own debt, that much _filthier_ I'd be. '_If August ever wakes up, he'll be too disgusted to even look at me,_' I thought, my heart and fists clenching simultaneously.

I needed to get _out _of here. Now.

"Thank you for your help doctor," I mumbled quietly, halfway out the door before my words even reached her ears. I rushed out of the room, down the hall, and out of the hospital, panic eating at my chest and suffocating me every time I tried to draw breath. When I was finally outside it was only marginally better; the space helped, but the sterilized smell that filled the hallways and the sight of August's near lifeless form lying helplessly on the bed were still fresh in my mind and it was overwhelming me.

I sank down against the wall, cement scraping my back where my shirt had ridden up, and pulled my knees tightly to my chest, compressing myself in the tiniest ball I could manage and cradling myself at the same time. Before I knew it I felt warm, salty tears dripping silently down my face, my breath on pause, and knew it would be awhile before I could go home. I couldn't let Zach find out. I couldn't let him know that his brother might have a chance, because when he didn't it would just break him all over again. And at this point, Zach really couldn't handle it. He'd been through too much and I didn't know that I could put him back together again.

I couldn't let him know about me either. I couldn't let him know that I'd already shattered and the pieces had scattered with the wind. Zach wouldn't rest until he made sure I was okay, and to be honest I didn't think I ever would be. The toll it would take on him was too much for him to handle right now. For him to handle _ever. _And it wasn't his problem anyways.

So I let my tears run their course. I would cry out all my frustrations and sadness at August's situation and then I'd probably cry some more for my own, and then I'd wash my face, go home, and be strong. Like always.

And I did. I cried over all the time I'd lost with August, all the things I'd had to do by myself that he should have been there for, all the things I'd left unspoken between us, all the times I'd pushed him away when all I wanted anymore was just _one_ more minute with him. I cried for the lost chance at confessing my feelings, for the best friend I no longer had, the one person I could go to who would always love me, listen to me, never judge me. I cried for all the things August would never get to do now, all the dreams he had that would never be realized. I cried for Zach, the little brother he'd left behind that I couldn't fully support. I cried so hard for the half dead boy lying in that bed up there who I knew in my heart of hearts was never going to wake up.

Then I cried for myself. I cried for the loss of the only parent figures I'd ever had, for the daily torture I'd been forced to endure since I was just a child. I cried for the family that should have loved me but didn't and the little boy locked inside me that never got his chance to live before he got pushed aside to make room for the adult I had to be. I cried for the innocence I lost that I could never get back, no matter how hard I tried. I cried for my inability to take care of Zach the way he deserved, to support him and give him the loving family I knew he so desperately needed. I cried for the life I feared would never get better because no matter how hard I tried I was just being pushed further and further into a dark corner I couldn't see a way out of.

I cried for it all, and it was probably the most I'd let myself feel in years. No, it _was _the most I'd let myself feel in years.

Before I started there had been this unbearable, building pain in my chest that was gnawing at me, eating me from the inside out and consuming me like fire. Now I just felt numb. It was a beautiful relief, and one I craved deeply – not just at times like these, but on an almost regular basis. Now that I'd felt it, I could go back to reality.

I glanced quickly at my cell phone and wasn't too surprised when I realized I'd just spend a good two hours crying. I tended to lose track of time during emotional breakdowns. God, I must have made such a spectacle. I _knew _some of these people. But I needed to get myself under control now because Zach would be waking up soon and I _had _to be there for him. I couldn't afford to let him down.

Easier said than done.

"Are you okay?" a slightly accented voice inquired, causing me to jerk violently in startled surprise and bang my head against the wall behind me.

"Oww," I moaned quietly, my hands coming up to rub briefly at the back of my head before I looked up into the most striking pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen, tears still clinging to my lashes and a couple even slipping down my face at the sudden burst of pain. Crouching down in front of me was a foreign man, or rather boy, who had inquired after me, and he was probably the most beautiful person I'd ever met. He was very slight, frail even, with shoulder length blue hair that fell in light waves and graceful features that went well with his polite and undeniably angelic demeanor.

Distracted slightly by his gaze I mumbled, "I'm fine." I unconsciously bit my lip, sucking on it anxiously and looking down at my arms – which were once more wrapped around my knees – before glancing back up at him.

"You don't look fine," he said pleasantly, a small smile coming to his lips. He slid over to sit next to me, sitting too close to be considered polite, and it instantly set me on edge. He brought his hand up to brush my cheek gently, collecting more than a fair bit of wetness on his fingers, and nodded towards it. "What's wrong?"

"Don't worry about it," I reply quietly. He was a complete stranger but he was taking time out of his day to see if I was okay… it confused and scared me. No one does something for nothing.

He seemed to read my thoughts from my face. "I came to pick up a prescription and saw you crying. That was half an hour ago. If you're still upset it must be pretty serious." That didn't explain anything though. That didn't tell me what he wanted.

"Why though?"

"I couldn't leave such a cute boy all alone," he smiled teasingly, but I froze. So that's what he wanted. I… I didn't know what to think. I'd never had such a young customer before. I wasn't in my work clothes though, so he didn't even know about my job. He couldn't really be asking me to have sex, right? He didn't know me, he didn't know how old I was. I looked ten. He was at least fifteen, if not older. He… no. I didn't understand. I'd only ever been approached like this once before, and that… that wasn't a memory I was willing to relive.

I'd started mildly hyperventilating and without my notice he'd wrapped a gentle arm around me, pressing a hand against my small chest and telling me to breathe with him. "In… and out." He repeated this over and over, and it _worked_ - before I realized what was happening and jerked away from him.

"I don't need your help," I practically spit. He had no right to touch me. "I can take care of myself."

"I have no doubt," there it was, that smile again. And a glint in his eyes that I hadn't noticed before, a dangerous one. I figured he must be _that _type. Of course. I should have known; I had more than enough experience. I didn't deal well with manipulative people. I'd had to do it for too long now, and they always screwed me over in the end. They were out for themselves and they didn't care who they hurt in the process – the more, the better in fact. He was gorgeous but I wasn't materialistic and if I really wanted beauty there were plenty of pretty boys with the agency who were dying to fool around with me, no strings attached.

I wasn't sure how to handle this. I still hadn't entirely recovered from my previous display and I was exhausted from the night's activities. I could hardly think straight, let alone deal with someone who just wanted to exploit me. So I decided to take the simplest route to solving my problem and just _run_.

I didn't get far. As soon as he noticed me shifting to stand up, he grabbed my wrist in a firm, and slightly painful, grasp. I gasped deeply as I tugged at my wrist, my other hand moving to try to pry his fingers from me and tears gathering in my eyes. '_Please no, please, not again, not now, please god please please please _please!' My thoughts were a constant litany of '_Don't let this happen again,_' and it didn't escape his notice as I started clawing at his hand weakly, not sure what else to do.

He lightly grabbed my other hand in his own to stop me from hurting either one of us and in the process my bracelets slipped upwards _just _enough to show the dark bruise that had blossomed around my wrist, and part of the scab over it. He obviously hadn't been expecting this; he dropped my hands as if burned by acid, his face twisted in concern and surprise, and disbelief too if I wasn't mistaken.

I used this chance to get away. I stood up, turned, and walked away. I didn't dare look back.

* * *

The journey home gave me the time I needed to collect myself and by the time I arrived the only noticeable difference in my appearance was my labored breathing – I'd run all the way from the hospital. My tears had dried up, and all my marks were once again covered by clothes.

Zach and I lived in a shed behind the main house. It was actually nicer than it sounded; it had running water, electricity, a small bathroom. It was almost an unattached bedroom, except that they'd never give us anything that nice. I'd set it up so that once inside you could almost forget what it was. There was a giant rug covering the cement flooring, bunk beds tucked away in the far corner, a desk right next to those, a TV on the opposite wall, an old computer sitting on the desk, and a small corner with our make-shift "kitchen". It wasn't much, but for us it was home.

When I finally got up the nerve to walk in Zach was just waking up. His hair was tousled, his clothes askew, and his eyes half-lidded. He was nowhere near alert enough to notice the subtle signs I'd been crying.

"Morning Ryoma," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes as he stretched.

"Morning Zach," I replied, obediently wandering over when he held his arms out for a hug. Zach was a _very _affectionate person, and seeing as I was the only person he had consistent contact with it was only natural that he'd turn to me to fulfill that need. I usually hated being touched, but I found that I didn't mind so much with him because it didn't make me feel… dirty. _Used_. I didn't sense any ulterior motives in him, and after this long I knew he didn't have any. Zach wasn't innocent, per se, but he was certainly nothing like those men who took so much joy in hurting me.

"Did you go see August?" he asked, obviously wondering where I'd been. So maybe he'd been awake a little longer than I'd thought.

"Mmhm," I hummed. I knew I should tell him, but I just couldn't bring myself to crush him like that.

I felt him still on the bed beside me and when I glanced over his eyes were narrowed. "You're not telling me something," he accused, voice hurt. Did I tell him? Did I risk hurting him like that? We'd promised each other not to keep any secrets, but he just going to be inevitably disappointed and hurt when his brother didn't wake up. "Ryoma!" he barked, obviously ready to force me. And he could force me, I knew. It wouldn't be hard.

"Fine," I said, turning away. "There was some brain activity. They're running tests… but Dr. Politch said it's probably nothing, so just forget it happened."

"Oh my god, really?" he exclaimed, mood doing a complete one-eighty. He was practically bouncing where he sat. "That's great!"

"No Zach, it's not! Because it doesn't mean anything! Don't you remember what happened last time? He just got worse! And all it did was hurt us. Do you really want to go through that again? Do you even remember how bad you got?" After the surgery Zach had been in a bad place. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't talk, hardly slept. He wanted August back, probably more than even me, but suddenly he was further than ever. And the hope he'd had in his heart since the accident, that had disappeared. And it was the only thing keeping him afloat. So yeah, after the surgery he'd been bad. And I was the one who had to pick up the pieces, even though I was broken too.

"It won't be like that though," he whispered, wrapping his arms around himself and sniffling. "He'll wake up this time." His voice was small, childlike. It broke my heart.

"No Zach. Don't do this to yourself," I begged. I leaned forward, pulling him against my chest and smoothing his hair. I could practically feel him pulling into himself. He needed to stop, for both of us. He couldn't do this again. He pushed himself against me, curling into my frame and clinging like the lost child he was. "I know you want him back." I know I'm not enough. "But… he's gone. Probably for good. And the sooner we move on the less it will hurt in the end.

"But I just want my brother back," he sobbed. His whole body was trembling and I knew he was on the verge of a breakdown of his own.

"I know baby," I rocked him softly. "I know. I want him back too," I whispered.

**XXxXX**

**A/N**: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. This is more of a prologue, by the way, so any confusion should be cleared up as the story goes on. For anyone concerned with the **graphic content**: I'm not going to be showing every scene where Ryoma sells himself and/or is raped for the rest of the story! I promise! I'm only showing ones that are important to his character development in some way. These scenes will be few and far between.

On **OC's**: Zach is a main character, but I swear he's not a Gary Stu and him and Ryoma _do not_ end up together. August is a main plot element, but not really a main character – even if it may seem like it at first. On **pairings**: The pairings aren't set in stone and you'll have to read to find out who ends up with who, but the main pairing will probably be Ryoma, Fuji, and someone else. Feel free to give your input, even if you do want a different pairing. If you make a good argument you might just get what you want. Finally, on **updates**: I update sporadically, but I'm hoping to update every other week. No promises though. Chapters will likely be between 3k and 8k.

Thanks for reading and please review!

**My Last Lullaby**


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